


Bad Karma

by soullessvoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Idiot Hunters, M/M, Sappy Ending, Sassy Stiles Stilinski, Snarky Stiles, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 17:44:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7693639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soullessvoid/pseuds/soullessvoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I honestly don't think this'll ever be 'finished' per se, it's just somwhere for me to dump random ideas and short fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Karma

**Author's Note:**

> Some gung-ho hunters roll into town and Stiles ends up beating them down with sass and snark. Oh! and his baseball bat. 
> 
> Trigger Warning for violence but thats about it.  
> Title taken from the song Bad Karma by Ida Maria.

 

Stiles walks out into the moonlit clearing, baseball bat in hand, the tip dragging along the ground. Seriously he’s surprised that he’d gotten this far. His entire pack had been taken, _even Allison_ , starting with Isaac and Erica. They were on their way to the meeting Derek called straight after school about these new gung-ho hunters in town looking for some quick and easy glory.

Somehow they had missed Stiles in their pack head-count, probably because he’s still human, _idiots_. He smirks at the utter surprise on the hunters faces. Glancing around he sees Scott and Jackson squished into a cage together, Allison and Lydia tied to an old tree stump, Isaac and Erica chained to a tree of their own and Wolf-Derek in his own cage smack bang in the middle of the clearing surrounded by some kind of pentagram carved into the earth.

To his, and everyone else’s surprise, he bursts out laughing. “Seriously?” He gasps out. “You seriously think we’re demons? Oh my god, let me guess, you’ve been watching too much _Supernatural_ and think everything needs to be killed...?” He collapses against a tree in a fresh fit of laughter.

“What the hell’s supernatural?” A mountain of a guy for his apparent age rumbles, stepping forward threateningly, all muscle and brute strength. Stiles doesn’t move, eyes running over him with an eyebrow raised. A slim girl, around the same age, short blond hair pulled up into a ponytail with a gun strapped to one leg and a machete to the other, places her hand on Buff’s chest.

“It’s the middle of the night, what are you doing here, kid?” A slightly older man steps forward, pulling Stiles immediate attention away from the other two, keeping track of them in the back of his mind. _They’re hanging back and watching us, so this guy must be their leader._

“Oh, y’know, just taking a walk, seeing the sights, enjoying the fresh air.” Stiles replies flippantly, gesturing around at the empty forest and cold sky. _Seriously, couldn’t it have been somewhere warm and cosy? Like in a fucking house?_  Isaac and Erica snigger as Jackson rolls his eyes.  
Derek growls at Stiles to get away from them. At least, that’s how he interprets the rumbling snarl, since it is even more impossible to hold an actual conversation with Wolf-Derek than it is with actual Derek.

“Hush you, the adults are talking.” Stiles directs over his shoulder. Amazingly Derek does, inciting to Stiles the severity of the situation. Usually it’d be a longsuffering, half-hearted argument about keeping Stiles safe and Stiles arguing that he kicks almost as much ass as Allison. Secretly he enjoys it, and knows Derek enjoys it, also, it calms his nerves with something so familiar. “Where were we? Oh yeah, you letting me and my friends walk out of here with everyone unharmed.” Stiles continues, the flippancy in his tone replaced with dangerous calm. 

“What? Kid, get outta here, before you get yourself hurt.” Leader says stepping forward and resting his hand on the gun strapped to his own leg. _Overconfidence... are these people for real? I mean, Werewolves!_

Stiles snorts derisively. “I wasn’t talking about me.” he says, dead calm. 

“Oh shit, you're all screwed.” Isaac mutters loud enough for the humans to hear.

Stiles swings the bat.

The greatest amount of force generated by swinging a bat is in the last eight or so inches. Stiles uses this to its extent, the end of the length of steel in his hands crunching against the young man’s side as one of his companions shouts a warning. _Winded with possible broken ribs, he’ll be down for a while._ Stiles spins behind the tree he was leaning against earlier, narrowly avoiding a bullet that explodes part of the tree by his face.

“Give it up! Has no one ever told you not to bring a baseball bat to a gunfight?” Blondie calls out.

“Max, you okay?” Buff says at the same time.

“Actually the weapon is a knife so, no, they haven’t.” Stiles peeks his head out and gets another piece of exploding tree for his trouble.

“I'm fine, get him in the trap.” Max snarls out slowly dragging himself upright. _Damn, he’s tougher than he looks_.

Stiles makes a dash to the cover of another tree, narrowly avoiding another spray of bullets, glimpsing Blondie tracking his movements with her gun and Buff moving over to the other side of the clearing as Max pulls out his own gun and aims at him. _Shit I need to move_.  
Stiles dashes over in Buff’s direction, popping from tree to tree, bullets chasing him.

“Max, smoke him out!” Blondie shouts, taking a pot shot at where Stiles is hidden again.

“I've got this.” Buff rumbles out, lumbering over to Stiles.

“Famous last words.” Stiles mutters and he hears Jackson say the same thing.

Buff comes around the trunk and only then does Stiles realise how huge he actually is. Compared to Derek, Stiles is lanky, but he’s not small by any means. This guy makes Derek’s ridiculously attractive shoulders and well-toned werewolf ass look normal.  
Stiles swings his bat at Buff’s knee but the Neanderthal steps back and it misses. Stiles ducks under the retaliating punch, sidestepping the mass of muscle, swinging the steel into Buff’s solar plexus. Well he tried to anyway, Buff twisted at the last second and the blow caught his side, trapping the length of steel with his arm. _I am so screwed_. He pulls out a knife hidden in the loop in the back of his jeans by his shirt and hoodie. 

Searing pain tears through Stiles’ thigh, collapsing his leg, dropping him to his knees as he cries out. Dimly he’s aware of Derek thrashing against the bars of his cage trying to get out and the rest of the pack shouting in outrage or worry. Buff backhands him across the face, and he feels a hand fist in the back of his shirt and hoodie, using it to drag him over to the centre of the clearing, Derek’s cage and the middle of the pentagram. Stiles grunts as his wound is jostled when Buff drops him. 

Quickly, he stabs the knife through Buff’s foot before it can walk away and out of reach. Stiles hooks his fingers through Buff’s belt, pulling the already off balance giant to the ground with a crash. Unfortunately, the guy landed across Stiles’ shot leg. _The dick, that hurts._ And the bat clatters to the ground beside them. 

Stiles slashes the knife across Buff’s throat, kicking at the body to get it off him before either of the other two can try to shoot him again. 

“NO!” _Ah, shit. Here we go._ Stiles sighs at the scream. Blondie sprints out into the clearing, giving Stiles a perfect shot at her. Not really one for wasting an opportunity in a fight, Stiles throws the knife and it buries itself in her chest. 

Picking up Buff’s gun and his bat Stiles pushes himself to his feet, scanning the clearing for the Leader.

“Dude, give it up. You're not getting out of here alive.” Stiles calls out, Slowly turning in a circle. “Unless you’ve already gone and run away like a coward.” He mutters, trying to see where the last hunter could have gone. Raising an eyebrow in silent question, he looks at the wolves in the pack, watching them for a direction. Derek stills as Scott closes his eyes and Jackson frowns. Isaac and Erica quickly get the idea and start focusing their hearing too. After a moment, Derek huffs and awkwardly turns around in the cage until his snout is pointing off to Stiles’ left. A beat later and Scott looks up at Stiles before his gaze focuses in the same direction. Isaac, Erica and Jackson take a moment longer before they too look in the same direction.

_Aww man, my luck keeps getting worse and worse..._

Everyone’s looking in the direction of Lydia and Allison’s tree stump. Both of them look at the rest questioningly, then Lydia’s face falls as she sighs.

“He’s behind us, isn’t he?”

Allison rolls her eyes. “Great.” She mutters.

The hunter pokes his head around the dead tree and Stiles raises his arm to aim the gun.

 “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he threatens. “Shoot me and princess here gets it.” The hunter presses his gun to the side of Lydia’s head, watching Stiles carefully.

The teen sighs, slowly lowering his arm to his side. _Yup, my luck definitely sucks ass._ Then he smirks. “Go ahead, then. Shoot her. Why should I care?”

A round of protests starts up from the wolves and Derek starts growling at Stiles again, glaring.

The hunter snorts is amusement. “You said that these animals were your friends. I've seen you all interact.”

“Then call my bluff. Pull the trigger.” Stiles snarls, twisting his face into a sneer. 

The hunter pauses for a moment, considering the unspoken threat and other options he could take. Finally, he decides. “Maybe I'll just shoot you.” He says as he shifts his own aim, cocking the weapon and levelling it at Stiles.

“Fine.” Stiles says just before a gunshot cracks through the night.

Both Stiles and the hunter collapse to the ground and Lydia screams, tugging at the rope holding her to the dead tree. Scott tugs at the bars on his cage, desperate to get to his best friend. Erica and Isaac stand, shocked, before beginning to tug desperately at their own restraints. Allison’s gaze darts between Stiles and the last hunter lying on the ground, tears welling up in her eyes. Jackson stays still in shock staring at Stiles, and Derek; Derek has his muzzle pressed against the bars of the cage, then scratching at them frantically with his useless lupine paws, whining high in his throat. Because he can't bear to watch his infuriating, sarcastic, snarky spaz of a human die before he can tell him all the things he wants so much to run so far, far away from. 

“STILES!” Lydia’s scream pierces through the clearing like a wave of ice. Everything stops. Just long enough for Stiles to groan and move sluggishly, pushing himself upright. 

“He shot me.” Stiles says disbelievingly and everything stops again. “That bastard fucking _shot_ me.” His wide eyes look up at a surprised Allison and a teary Lydia before landing on a wetly laughing Scott, scowling Jackson, relieved Isaac and a furious Erica. 

“Don't you _fucking DARE_ do that to me _again_ , you _ASSHOLE_!” the stunning blond werewolf shouts at the bleeding human, rattling the chains for emphasis. 

“Sorry.” Stiles replies sheepishly. A high whine behind him makes Stiles start and groan in pain immediately after because he jostled his injuries. 

“Hey Sourwolf,” He says, smiling softly back at Derek. “Guess I just saved your ass again.” 

Derek huffs before pawing half-heartedly at the bars and whining again. 

Stiles sighs. “Alright, but the girls look a lot easier to get free than you do.” 

Derek grumbles as Stiles pushes himself to his feet, his hand covering the bullet hole in his upper arm, limping over to where Allison and Lydia are tied to the stump. The rope caused some problems for Stiles’ exhausted fingers but he eventually got them free. Lydia immediately drops to his side where he’s sitting against the long dead tree, her fingers ghosting over him to reassure herself that he’s still alive. Stiles tells her to go help Allison free the others and she reluctantly leaves his side. He slips into a haze of pain and exhaustion, generally aware of what is happening in the clearing around him, not able to concentrate enough to pinpoint exactly who, what and where. 

Suddenly a fuzz of black fur is in front of him, nuzzling at his body, jostling his wounds slightly and bringing him out of his daze. 

“M’ok Sourwolf,” Derek huffs in response. “Just, someone needs to stop me bleeding.” 

Allison steps forward immediately and Derek spins to snarl at her.

“Derek, you gotta back down, Scott can help too but you need to let them near me to help and I already know it’ll hurt, so stop being such an overprotective boyfriend already.” Stiles complains, tugging on the fur he wound his fingers through.

Derek stills, staring at Stiles. Yeah, the thing they had going on was mutual but they never treated it as any official ‘thing’ even though the pack knew—it was obvious when you had ‘super smell’—and they never really did anything outright in public. Stiles tugs sharper on Derek’s fur and the wolf concedes the point, though he stays close by Stiles, those gorges long fingers still tangled in his fur.

 

“Stiles, you fucking _idiot_!” Derek bursts out as soon the others left, pulling on a spare pair of sweat pants. 

“You’d still be stuck in that cage, most likely dead, and definitely in more than one piece, if I hadn’t come to save your ridiculously good-looking werewolfy ass! So stop complaining, I was awesome...! Ow...” Stiles slumps back against the side of his jeep, leaning his weight away from his injured leg. 

_I_ really _need to stop getting myself into situations where I end up bleeding. I mean, could Derek get any more protective?  
_

“Don't ever do that to me again! I hate it when you get yourself hurt.” 

_Yup, there we go...wait, wat?  
_

“Um...” Stiles stares at Derek, who’s eyes grow wide at the realisation of what he just let slip. 

“Stiles...” 

“Derek.”

“Stiles.” Derek groans exasperated.

“Derek?” Stiles looks at Derek expectantly, still leaning back against his jeep.

“Stiles, I just—I can't...” Derek sighs, frustrated that he can't seem to find the words like Stiles can.

“Derek, shut up and come here,” Stiles beckons him over and Derek warily steps forward until Stiles can hook his fingers into the waistband of his pants pulling him the rest of the way so Stiles can press his lips against Derek’s as he slides his hand up to the nape of Derek’s neck. “I know, why d’you think I came to save your perfect fuzzy face?”

Derek frowns, his eyebrows knitting together in what Stiles thinks of as Derek’s ‘Eyebrows of Doom’ (at least for most people who aren’t Stiles—that includes Scott). “How can I keep you safe if you won't even do what I tell you to and stay out of it?”

Stiles sighs. “When have your plans ever worked out? Anyway, it was me who dragged myself into this when I went to look for the body of your sister and dragged Scott along with me. Must I also remind you that it could have been me that got bit just as easily as Scott,” Derek had looked down away from Stiles, so he cups his hand over Derek’s cheek, gently moving the older man’s face so he can look at those insanely beautiful green eyes. “Besides, isn’t all the training so we can protect ourselves, and not be some damsel in distress? Derek,” Stiles sighs again. “I can look after myself in a fight and tonight just proved that.”

Derek looks at the human standing in front of him, at the small scrapes and blooming bruises on the mole dotted face, at the congealing blood slowly seeping through the torn fabric of his jeans and shirt. Feels the long fingered hand resting along his jaw and smells the scent that is just _Stiles_ threaded underneath a myriad of other things. His eyes find the caramel/whiskey/brown/black orbs in that amazingly expressive face and whispers,

“Stiles, what are you doing to me?”

 


End file.
